Culpa Internum
by A-Spirit
Summary: INCOMPLETE. Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible. SNARRY!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. None of the individuals in the banner or the people who photographed them are in any way affiliated with me.

**Pairing:** Severus/Harry.

**Rating: R**

**Warning: Mpreg.**

**Summary: **Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.

**Author's note: **Since I've never written an mpreg before, I tried to make this bit as realistic as possible. I'm not sure how well I did on that account. So tell me how I did. On another note, I do not envy anyone who has ever had to name a child.

**Author:****_Spirit_**

o

_**CULPA INTERNUM**_

The Fault Within

o

PROLOGUE

Harry careful closed the door to the fridge with the tip of his toes. Grumbling below his breath, he balanced a pre-packaged loaf of sliced bread, a pre-packaged slab of ham, cheddar cheese and a jug of orange juice, and carried them carefully to his dining table. He yearned to pull out his wand once he got there but luckily the fact that he had no more fingers available to pull out the chair meant that his fingers were still too occupied to go casting about his person for his wand. In his condition though, he wasn't supposed to be using magic. He was delicate enough as it were and if eight months and some weeks without magic hadn't rendered him insane it was obvious that he was hardly going to lose his mind now.

In his condition.

Harry chuckled out loud at that thought. It was still so strange to be thinking along those lines. But, while he laughed to himself his now free hand moved to lightly glide over the protrusion of his abdomen.

In the history of the world no other man had ever laid claim to this particular condition, and after everything that Harry had been through for nearly nine months he had a pretty good idea why nature chose women to carry out this particular task. Men were wimps of the biggest kind. They may act as if the world was created from their fingertips but it was women who were the brave, strong, completely under-appreciated gender. Pregnancy was no drop in the bucket. Harry should know, he had willingly decided to subject himself to this unique experience.

"To women," he laughed, raising his glass of orange juice to the empty air before him. "To Hermione and Ginny, Luna and Lavender, and every woman I have ever known. Wouldn't you all like to see me now?"

It had begun as a promise to himself.

There had been so many deaths in the war that for the year that Harry had sought out Voldemort, he had made a thousand silent promises to himself. That if he lived one more day he would never again forget to appreciate the beauty of a starlit sky. That if he managed to save Ron's life he would personally hunt down the Death Eaters that had attacked them. That if Hermione didn't die the next morning, he would somehow convince his best friends to go home where they were safe. It was all centered on life and death. For a year he bargained one for the other and he didn't always get what he wanted. There were things that he would have given his soul to see happen, but there were other things that he would never have expected to happen.

Like the moment that Severus Snape had been cursed on his behalf, and it was the opening that Harry needed to destroy Voldemort.

Harry had made many promises to himself but as he looked down on the still form of his former Potions professor he knew that the wizarding world had a right to know about Snape's sacrifice. He had fought the Wizengamot to see what Snape had done, using his memories to convince them, but even being told that Snape was a war hero, had not been enough. Perhaps he had gone a little crazy then. Gratitude and a war did strange things to the mind. A powerful wizard such as himself wanting to have a child at eighteen would have been perfectly understandable, but for the fact that he intended to bear the child himself. And more importantly, he intended for the child to be sired by Snape, because he couldn't think of a better way to preserve the man's legacy than to provide an heir.

The one Healer that he had divulged his plans to immediately told him to seek psychological help. But after months of tests both Muggle and magical, it became apparent very quickly that he was not so much mad as he was determined to repay the wizard's bond, even if it was in a very unconventional manner. He was powerful enough. In fact, his power made it possible. The male form was not designed to carry a child through gestation and it was more likely that he would die from his internal organs rupturing from trying to accommodate not only another organ, but another being. Harry spent a few weeks working with his Healer to tweak a fertility potion in just the right way, though neither of them believed that they had managed it until the second trimester when, apart from the usual swellings and aches, Harry had not died of internal bleeding. The more difficult part was acquiring the pint of Snape's blood that was needed to perform the ritual that would result in the actual fertilization. But as luck would have it, Snape had spent a lot of time in the Muggle world while he spied for the Order and there had been a time when he had been coerced somehow into parting with blood. Harry had been ecstatic at the find.

"But the bastard couldn't even stay dead, could he?" Harry mused into his third glass of juice and his second sandwich.

Five months after he had been proclaimed missing in action and therefore assumed to have died from the curse, Snape was found to be alive and going to be just fine. He had been in a coma for three of the five months and some Healers at St. Mungo's had just happened upon him lying in the Muggle hospital. They transferred him to the magical hospital and put him under intensive care for two months, not wanting to risk telling the world that he was alive, only to have him die again. When the news was finally released, it had been too late for Harry to undo what he had done.

So in a very un-Gryffindor manner Harry fled from England to the United States. His secret embarrassment and shame had him cursing all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, but he had grown attached to the idea of having this baby and after spending all those months where he had finally done the impossible, it was difficult to imagine not holding his gift in his arms.

So this was where he was, two months later sitting in his dining room, single, barefoot and magically pregnant by a wizard who would no doubt curse him six ways to hell if he ever found out.

Harry groaned aloud, and as if in sympathy a small twinge of pain shot through his stomach.

He absently rubbed a hand across his belly again, in a gesture that was meant to soothe his unborn child. Rising from the chair slowly, he gathered the leftovers of his snack and tried to tamper down the ridiculous idea that he probably looked like a polar bear waddling towards the refrigerator.

He barely managed to close the fridge door again when a stronger slice of pain ripped across his insides and he leaned unto his kitchen counter, gasping.

"You will not do this now," he groaned, but his body refused to listen as yet another contraction ripped its way through him.

He let out a string of expletives as his fingers gripped the edge of the counted so tightly that his knuckles became white.

"Harry?"

Salvation came in the form of the only person who would understand. He would never again be so grateful, as he did in that moment, for the instincts that Healers developed. The instinct to know when a patient needed them.

Harry ground his teeth and dragged himself down the hallway and into his living room where, standing before his lit fire, his Healer raised one eyebrow at his obvious plight.

"You don't look so well Mr. Potter," she teased, although she was already steering him towards the closest bedroom. "Just breathe the way I taught you and try not to push. I know the urge is strong but, though you might have achieved this particular phenomena, try to remember that certain parts of you are still very male."

He gave her a dirty look, filled with all the curses that the quickly increasing pain was wiping from his memory.

"How far apart are the contractions?" Harry looked at her blankly and she laughed, obviously enjoying herself. "Well never mind then. I'll just find out for myself."

Her warm fingers pushed his clothes away so that she could properly view the anomaly that was his stomach. Harry groaned and gasped as the length and intensity of the contractions increased. His fingers gripped one of her hands. She merely laughed again.

"Be very grateful that I don't have to wait for dilation," she said almost soothingly. "Don't worry, I'll be as quick as I can to perform the birthing ritual."

Three hours later, she was still chanting and Harry was sure that he had skipped purgatory and gone straight to hell.

o

He woke up an hour later from the depths of unconsciousness and immediately ran his fingers down the length of his stomach.

It was perfectly flat, even slightly muscular, in just the way that a nineteen year old male Quidditch player's body would feel. There was no indication that it had ever showed signs of being any other way. Harry felt a hollowed sensation wash over him. For nine months he had carried the weight of another human being inside of him, and now there was nothing to show for it.

Well almost nothing.

"Oh look, he's awake." The whispered words came from across the room. "Your daddy may be the most powerful wizard that ever lived but that didn't stop him from passing out stone cold from a little pain. Don't ever let him forget how hard he had to fight for you, little girl."

Harry groaned while he tried to sit up in the bed.

"Little pain, my arse," he grumbled, but other parts of the small monologue caught up with him. "It's a girl?"

And she was there, being held out to him, wrapped in a conjured up blanket.

Her tiny fingers were curled into fists, one hand raised to her mouth. She had Harry nose. A perfect tiny replica of it. This was something for which he was incredibly grateful. Her tuft of hair was jet black, still too early to discern which one of her parents she got the color from. But, when she opened her bright eyes, Harry smiled. They were as black as midnight and it was only as he reached to take her that he noticed the flecks of green hidden in their depth.

"Hello little angel," he whispered, unable to take his eyes off her perfect little face. "If your father was here, what would he call you?"

Shaelan Haylee Potter-Snape.

"Shae." He stroked her hair. "A gift."

He held her gently against his chest, breathing in her baby scent. No one but him and his Healer knew that this little girl existed and no one would ever know, especially not Snape. He had done a rash thing by letting his respect and gratitude for Snape spill over into the decision of having her, but he swore softly against her hair that he would protect her. If it meant giving up his status as the person who gave birth to her - no one would believe it anyway - he would make sure that she never felt like something to be ogled.

"It's just the two of us now," Harry murmured, kissing her forehead lightly. "It can't possibly be that hard to do."

o-X-o


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. None of the individuals in the banner or the people who photographed them are in any way affiliated with me.

**Pairing:** Severus/Harry.

**Rating: R**

**Warning: May trigger those with experience for MDS and AML.**

**Summary: **Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.

**Author's note: **It seems that I am always providing a glossary. I must apologize to those who think 'these type of fics' are overdone by me.

**Author:****_Spirit_**

o

_**Culpa Internum**_

The Fault Within

o

CHAPTER ONE

If it hadn't been such a disturbingly bright day Severus would never have noticed.

Gazing through a magically enchanted window, four floors up in the towering building of St. Mungo's Hospital with nothing to do but wait, Severus wondered if perhaps the right course would not have been to use whatever resources he had and kept his condition from McGonagall's knowledge. That was not plausible of course, as he had not been the one to tell her in the first place. He couldn't even remember the journey to St. Mungo's except in a haze of blurry figures and strange slurred voices.

As he looked distractedly down upon the street below his window, he chased down the memories that had gotten him here.

The first sign that something was wrong would have been the moment he woke up. But, even though he went through his morning ritual of a bath, then brushing his hair and teeth, with the unsatisfied feeling that he could do with another three hours of sleep, he ignored his tiredness with a mere shrug and the realization that as always his sleep had been restless because of his perpetual nightmares.

When McGonagall pointed it out to him at breakfast though, he had bristled as if insulted.

"Good morning Severus." The reigning headmistress' eyes had travelled up and down the length of him appraisingly. "You look tired. Surely you at least tried to get some sleep last night? It will reflect badly on the students if you take out your fatigue on them, you know."

Severus had drawn up the chair closest to her. It was his usual seat by now but after two years, he still was not comfortable with the position of returning to Hogwarts as the new deputy headmaster in addition to being the Potions professor again. Of course, he had been told about the decisions that had been made in the nearly six months that he had been missing after the war. Every time he thought upon it he became incredibly grateful that for three of those months he had been in a coma and for two more months he had managed to convince his Healers to keep his survival a secret. Sometimes he thought that he liked the notoriety more than the fawning that he was at times subjected to. Even living in secret, cursed and dying, had been better than the fact that the press now hung upon his every word. So in a way he had been forced to accept the position at Hogwarts, because even in his anger and guilt he knew that the school was still the safest and most secluded place that he could find refuge.

"Severus?"

Severus had turned to glare openly at his collegue, daring to do what not many found they had the courage to attempt, by openly snapping at her. "Minerva, it is barely eight in the morning and I haven't breakfasted yet. Why don't you do us both the favor of taking your good intentions and suffocating worry to a candidate who is more tolerant of it so early in the day?"

She seemed unfazed, instead, shoving a glass of orange juice closer to him.

He gave her a look worthy of hell before snapping at her again. "I can get my own, thank you."

"I'd rather you get angry at me than kill a student." She glared. "You've been looking tired and a bit pale recently. It's my task to ensure that my staff is well enough to carry on with their duty, so I won't let you leave here until you've eaten something substantial."

That was another thing that had changed since his return. The worrying on his behalf. Granted, Dumbledore had been much more tiresome at it but at least he had always been subtle. When Minerva worried about Severus she did it in a more public manner, not raising her voice or even being so blatant as to catch the eyes of the sea of students, but being more of a nuissance. Severus suspected that it was because of the time that she had spent doubting his loyalty, no doubt wishing every ill that she could upon him, and when he had been cursed it turned out to be in favor of the light. Her guilt and shame made her extra watchful of him, thereby smothering him in a manner than he had never thought to be possible of her.

They did an odd sort of shuffling with the items of food along the Head Table. The other professors, used to it after two years, merely aided whichever side that they could, but the students remained as unknowing as ever. The dispute ended with Severus yanking out his wand and causing everything on the table to freeze in place. Minerva pursed her lips tightly, shot him a very displeased look, then rose from her chair and soon swept out of the Great Hall.

"You do look a bit under da' weath'er Snape," Hagrid piped up, turning a shade of red under his beard, but bracing himself for the insult that was coming. "She were jus' being hel'ful."

"Thank you for your concern but I'm hardly going to die from fatigue now am I?" Severus had rounded on him, just as soon as he unfroze the food. His glare was made possible from the empty chair that was between them. "Should I desire any more of your opinion I now know where to look for it. In the meantime, pass the butter. Right now I need it far more than I need advice."

Hagrid passed the butter in silence. Severus snatched it from him without so much as a nod. Then, he buttered the bread as swiftly as humanly possible, glaring all the while at any student who was brazen enough to meet his glare.

When a wave of dizziness had washed over him he had merely clutched the edge of the table tightly and attributed it to the tiresome nature of being around the other professors of Hogwarts.

So breakfast led to his first Potions lesson for the day.

The morning had dawned brightly and the Seventh year students, restless with their desires to be anywhere but locked up in the darkest corner of the castle, had been at their clumsiest. It was solely from his attempts to keep his classroom intact that Severus had shunned them to the grounds outside, in a hunt to replace all the precious Potion ingredients that they had wasted in their distraction.

Severus scowled at the glass now. His fingers tightened on the window ledge. He had not even realized that he had rested his hand there, but he soon had to release his grasp. It would not do to draw anymore blood from his self. He had lost enough in the two short hours that he had been imprisoned in the hospital room.

A part of his anger was embarrassment and a good part more was honest fear.

He had followed his class into the forest, snapping at them every chance that he had gotten, but then quite suddenly his breath seemed to hitch in his chest and he had found that he could not gasp enough air to appease the shortness of breath. His first thought had been that perhaps something about breakfast had not agreed with him. Perhaps he could have attributed it to Minerva and her inability to keep her inane concerns to herself. But then the world seemed to tilt upon its axis as a flood of dizziness overtook him and he fell to his knees breathing heavily. His heart had taken that moment to let itself be known by beating so fast within his chest that for a second he wondered if it would burst through.

"Profess'r?" He had heard Hagrid calling to him, but before he had the chance to respond, the world darkened and he quickly lost consciousness.

So now that he retraced his steps he knew what had happened to bring him to the hospital, but he still did not know why. He could hear the way the Healers had whispered together in panic when they thought that he had been too drugged to understand. As a spy he had more than adequate experience in acquiring and retaining information even at times when he was at his worst. Remembering their words now was nothing. Besides, he had spent enough time in the Muggle world to recognize the one word that they threw out to each other. He had no previous experience with the condition, being a wizard, but more than that, he had seen the fear in his Healers' eyes as they conversed. What he had was not usually present in the magical population, and in the Muggle world where it occured frequently enough, they had yet to find a definite cure.

Leukemia.

Severus shook his head as if to dispell with the bother that just the word conveyed. Even if he did not quite understand everything about it - and he was determined to learn everything soon - he could feel it. He could feel the weak, tiredness that came with the condition. He at least understood the part about his blood lacking oxygen from the loss of red blood cells. For now the anemia was the more prevalent symptom.

But no one was speaking to him, just to each other and using the most medical terminology that they knew, because of course, there were Muggle doctors affiliated with St. Mungo's that had been called in when the Healers had been stumped. It was they who diagnosed him. They who knew that his white cells count were far too high compared to the red blood cells but still too low in general.

Severus could wait for long periods of time, years in fact, without answers, but this waiting was almost too much.

"Snape, you should be in bed resting."

Severus had turned around sharply when the door opened and he had been glaring his hardest as he did, but the Healer who entered still said her piece, unfazed. In fact, she briskly walked over to him and indicated that he should get back on the cotton sheet that covered the small hospital bed. He glared at her again but she stood her ground.

"I must decline the request Madam Kehland," he said pointedly into the silence that had fallen.

"Professor Snape, we just believe that it is better for you to sit while we explain this to you. It may take a while to go through the concepts and to explain all complications. You will be more comfortable sitting."

Severus shifted his hard gaze from the madam to the Healer that strode into his room, followed by a line of strangers. Severus recognized the young Healer more than he recognized the calm, professional voice. It had been a while since he had seen this particular former student. He harbored a suspicion actually that this student had been one of two former students to bring about the supposed relocation of one Harry Potter from England to some god forsaken and still unknown hole in the universe.

But he sat at the request anyway, out of respect.

Healer Kehland looked between the two people who seemed to be communicating on some unspoken level, but she quickly got herself under control. Instead she indicated that everyone else could draw up their own chairs as she shuffled through her scrolls of notes then turned her attention back to her patient.

"Let me introduce to you everyone who has been looking into your condition." She held out a hand to those seated on her right. "Of course you recognize your Healers of two years ago who worked on the degenerative blood curse of which you had been the unfortunate recipient. Well on my left, that is Doctor James Austin, Doctor Nancy Bromwell and Doctor Kadil Pitantino. They are all Muggle Haematologists and Doctor Pitantino is also an Oncologist. Beside them is Healer Neil Mitchell. He works on blood curses, magical transfusions and rehabilitation."

Severus remained silent. Healer Kehland took that as her cue to continue. She opened her first scroll.

"What you have Mr. Snape, is the early stages of a condition that in Muggle terms is called Myelodysplastic Syndrome, which in its simplest form is usually described as a disorder of the bone marrow, resulting in low blood cells counts. Assuming that you understand these references - " Snape nodded and she continued, " - it means that all your cells...red, white and platelets...are lower than they should be because your bone marrow is damaged. Your body is no longer able to provide you with the correct amount of red blood cells to maintain oxygen, so currently you are showing signs of fatigue, which is indicative of anemia."

"And what about the complications?"

The quiet, sure voice response from the only other person who was still standing, not belonging to either side of the room as it were.

"Well, two years ago when you were brought to St. Mungo's the Healers assumed that the curse was contained and cured. We assure you that it mostly was, but this new Muggle-like disorder seems to be a mild side effect. I know that it does not seem mild but, well I'm sure you remember what the curse did to you and how painful it was. This won't be quite so painful, but because it is a derivative of the curse we are fairly certain that it will not simply be cured by the usual means of blood transfusions and medication from any source."

Nothing in Severus' expression changed as he kept his eyes locked onto the dark blue ones before him, even as he asked the question that made the Muggles in their midst, cringe visibly.

"So this disease will be left to spread and worsen. Nothing can and will be done?"

Kehland waved her hand in an attempt to be nonchalent. "No Snape! We will of course do our best, provided that we find what we need. In that event a mere bone marrow transplant is all that would be necesary."

"But it will worsen!" Snape snapped and Kehland started at the tone.

"Yes, it will worsen." There was no mercy in the cool voice now as the young Healer spoke again. No secret, at least in this circumstance. "Worsen in fact until we are sure that only the bone marrow transplant will work. You see because we cannot treat you, because we don't have the magic to do it having never been put into this situation before, we rely upon what the Muggles tell us, but they barely have the answer for themselves much less us. We can only wait. It will become Acute Myeloid Leukemia and then we Healers cannot treat it. We have no idea what magic it would take. So we will hope that at its worst the transplant, our only option at that point, will be enough."

"And what is the complication with that?"

"You will need a bone marrow that matches yours identically. Identically." Kehland's voice had gone soft, all the fight bled out of it. "The usual channels such as close family members would never work. You would need an heir. No, worse. A twin. A clone. A replica of yourself. But you could not even create one magically because you haven't even been blessed with time. You have three months at most and then your magic will be too weak and you will be too sick to try anymore. We are...sorry."

As one, the group rose and their seats disappeared. As one, they expressed their condolences and their hopes, a few even swore that they would find some other way because they would not accept that he could not be saved.

Snape sat unmoving, his features seemed to be carved from some hard granite into an expression that was not of fear this time but of resignation and acceptance. He closed his eyes briefly and caught glimpses of the life that he had led. Had he not atoned for his sins? Did he not make the right choices in the end? Hadn't it been worth it? Hadn't it been worth the sacrifices that he had made? Hadn't it been worth the nights that he had lain promising the gods that should he live past the darkness and the evil then he would never turn away from the light again?

He laughed a humorless sound under his breath.

The funny thing was that even if he had prayed for death and had bargained his whole life, to die of a disorder that seemed so Muggle, was an irony that could only be the universe getting back at him for his younger years. It could only be an atonement for a time when he had developed the god-like complex that usual accompanied the soul of every Death Eater. Now not even his potions could save him. His whole existence was...a waste...and he would die as alone in the world as he had entered it. What did he have to show for his years alive? What would they remember of him when he died? And would anyone even remember?

Severus opened his eyes slowly. Without moving his head he knew that he was not alone in the room. The former student that was now his Healer was still standing in the exact same spot, having not left as the other Healers had. Snape turned to face the silent figure now.

"Mr. Weasley, do not concern yourself. It is not death that I fear," he said pointedly.

Ron inclined his head slightly, a small smile curled on his lips and his lapis lazuli eyes seemed to sparkle, not with sympathy but with something else.

"Professor Snape," he said softly. "You are not dead yet. There is still, always, hope. You never know. Somewhere out there someone or something just might owe you a gift."

"I doubt that I've been so good as to be owed a miracle at this point in my life," Snape said dryly. "You and your friends are perhaps the only three people to understand that good does not always beget kindness or salvation from penance."

But Ron still seemed optimistic, even though the sadness of his eyes seemed to deepen at Snape's words.

"Hope dies last," he whispered, almost to himself before looking at Severus again. "Remember that Professor Snape. You're not dead yet."

"Yet," Severus echoed.

His voice was cold and dared Ron to challenge him further, but the door closed with a soft click as Healer Weasley left the room and Severus was left to sit in the silence to wonder if hope could possibly be enough for a Slytherin.

**_o - o_  
tbc  
_  
_**

**Glossary and The National Cancer Institute)**

**_Leukemia_** - An acute or chronic disease of unknown cause characterized by an abnormal increase in the number of white blood cells in the tissues of the body with or without a corresponding increase of those in the circulating blood, and is classified according to the type of white blood cell most prominently involved.

**_Haematologists_** - A doctor who specializes in diseases of the blood and blood-forming organs.

**_Oncologist_** - A doctor who specializes in treating cancer.

**_Myelodysplastic Syndrome_** - Disease in which the bone marrow does not function normally. Also called preleukemia or smoldering leukemia.

**_Acute Myeloid Leukemia_** - A quickly progressing disease in which too many immature white blood cells (not lymphocytes) are found in the blood and bone marrow.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. None of the individuals in the banner or the people who photographed them are in any way affiliated with me.

**Pairing:** Severus/Harry.

**Rating: R**

**Warning: (not in this chapter)**

**Summary: **Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.

**Author's note: **Sorry for the delay. I'd forgotten that though I haven't written anything new, I still have this chapter pre-written. Writer's block is a nasty little bugger.

**Author:****_Spirit_**

o

_**Culpa Internum**_

The Fault Within

o

CHAPTER TWO

Harry sat impatiently before his fireplace, waiting for a response to the summon that he had sent through the Floo in the form of a note, too impatient to try sending it by Owl post. In his hands he held the Daily Prophet up so that the headline news would catch his attention every few seconds and increase his anxiety just a bit more. In his lap, his two year old daughter snuggled, her tiny fingers were busy tracing the contours of the animated picture in front of her as she did what Harry wished he could do and muttered her thoughts aloud to herself.

"Daddy."

Her voice broke through the whirlwind of Harry's thoughts. He shifted her in his lap and looked down at her. "Yes Shae?"

"Not you!" She laughed aloud at his mistake, but her eyes soon found the newspaper article again and her fingers reached out to the magical picture that was animated there. "Daddy here. He not talk?"

Harry shook his head at her. "No. Photos don't speak Shae, only paintings."

She looked a little disappointed, although he had explained the concept to her more than once. She traced the scowl on the face of the photograph and as soon as she did the expression changed to something almost similar to a smile. She smiled back shyly.

"Daddy?" she whispered again, but again, it didn't seem to be Harry that she was adressing.

When she was just a few weeks old he had a painting done of her other father. It was huge and hung in her room, where Snape could always watch over her. It didn't move or speak like all the other wizarding paintings in the house since Snape was still alive, but it quickly became her favorite painting in the entire house. As she got older and learned to be mobile he added frames to every wall in the house so that the animated portraits of his parents, Sirius and Dumbledore could follow her if she wanted, but she spent so many hours just sitting or playing in front of the portrait of Snape that the other paintings thought that she would probably really like it if she knew more about him. So Harry, in an attempt to show her that her other 'daddy' wasn't just two dimensional, began to forgo telling her bedtime stories and instead firmly taking her hand and travelling with her through long ignored memories that he would put into his pensieve. As a result of that, rather inconveniently, she liked to refer to every reminder that she had of Snape in the same way as she did for Harry, which was very confusing for him.

He kissed the top of her head, amidst the array of soft black curls of hair. "Do you want to go and talk to the paintings? Daddy will be busy for a little while."

"Okay!" She didn't seem to need to think about it. "Daddy stay here alone?" Her forehead creased with concern.

"Yes," he teased her, but then kissed her loudly on the cheek. "But you can stay in here, so that I won't be alone."

The confusion and intrigue that had been in her eyes, vanished in a second as she proceeded to wiggle out of his lap. Her face transformed into a huge grin. He let her go, watching as she ran over to the closest empty portrait in the room, and somehow as always, managed to call its occupant to her presence without words. But then, the floo flared green and Harry immediately turned his attention away from his daughter, leaving her under the more watchful eyes of all the portraits.

Out of the fire, Ron stumbled with a muttered oath. He glared at his best friend as he brushed soot off his Healer robe before stepping out of the way. Hermione stepped out next, much more graceful and less irrate.

Harry took a minute to stare with affection at his best friends. Friends who had not given up like every one else and never stopped until they found him. It was Ron who had found out about his induced pregnancy amidst the archive of St. Mungo's records. Hermione had figured out a way to do the difficult task of internationally connecting their floo with Harry's unknown fireplace. Together, they had showed up one day in Harry's living room and never left until they got the entire story out of their estranged best friend. Harry had never been so glad to see them in his entire life, and that gratitude never lessened despite Ron's complaints and Hermione's meddling.

"What is this about?" Harry held up the paper now, finger jabbing at the headline.

"Your damn floo almost killed me again! I could have bloody suffocated to death in there," Ron griped, giving the fire a disgusted look as he ignored Harry. "I don't know why you insist of staying in this sodding country when there are three perfectly good houses in Britain that has been in your name since birth. Not to mention the other annonymous ones that random people bequeath to you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you finish?"

Ron seemed to think about it, then he took a deep breath and nodded. A slight tilt of his head to glance at the familiar headline had him releasing the breath in a huff. "Potions professor at Hogwarts collapses in the forest. What is left to understand about that?"

Harry opened his mouth to give a response, but it got delayed when Hermione pulled him into a tight hug.

"Go easy on him, you know how crabby he gets after international flooing," she whispered with a grin. "I'll leave you guys to talk alone. This is important so make sure he tells you everything."

Harry waited until she had joined Shae on the other side of the room before he shoved Ron into the nearest chair and stood scowling down at him.

Ron tried once more to irritate him, but he was obviously fighting a grin. "I should only give out information to his relatives. You're not related to him you know."

"Shaelan is," Harry said pointedly. "Would you like me to call her over?"

Ron sighed and immediately he became very serious. "Sit Harry. You're not going to like this. He's very sick. He's going to need you and Shae if he ever has a hope of living through this."

"So it's bad?"

"Extremely. The Healers are only giving him a few months to live because of how delicate his situation is." Ron's lips twisted into a wry grin, that Harry always appreciated more than the sad smile that the war had left him with. "It's a good thing I know something that they don't. You still owe him for saving your life in the war. Do you feel like repaying him soon?"

"Tell me what he needs," Harry said softly, as he finally sat. "Tell me what's wrong with him."

o

The decision on what to do was easy to make, although it took nearly another week before Harry could get his life in order so that he could leave.

He had always known that he would return to England one day so he had no qualms about leaving the place that he had called home for two years. Shae, in all her innocence, was only too glad to be taking a trip. She spent more time running around excitedly making sure that all her paintings and toys were properly shrunk and packed away first, not seeming to care that there were more important things that needed to be carried. Her incessant questions and exclamations made the two day Muggle journey to Hogwarts, first by plane and then by train, seem longer than necessary. However, it afforded enough distraction that Harry didn't have the time to really think about how he was going to explain years of absense from the wizarding world, only to return with a daughter who should by rights not have been able to exist at all.

"Daddy?" His daughter's voice broke through his reverie now and he looked down at her as she blatantly pointed. "No horsie?"

Harry looked towards the carriage that had drawn up before them. The driver sat perfectly still atop his perch, not even nodding in their direction. Before him, Harry could see the two thestrals, snorting impatiently and tugging at the reins and he allowed himself to remember a time when they had been invisible to him. Turning to look back at the upturned face of his daughter, he smiled widely. In the sun, her eyes looked more dark green than black. Her curiosity was almost tangible in the air as she wondered her thought aloud.

He picked her up, cradling her small body in his arms and kissed the side of her face as she was only too happy to wrap her arms around his neck and snuggle.

"No horses," he whispered to her as he strode towards the open door that awaited them. "Not for your eyes anyway."

The short journey seemed longer than it actually was as the horses ambled through Hogsmeade on the path to Hogwarts' castle. Shae was more fascinated with gazing out her window and chatting more to herself than to Harry about the beautiful sights along the way. For Harry, in those few minutes, he thought of a hundred different scenarios of how his welcome would be.

Snape would be angry, that was a certainty.

Harry nearly groaned aloud at the nervous twinge that attacked his stomach once he confronted that realization. Snape would be angry, but Harry was hoping that he would be even a tiny bit grateful too. It wasn't such an errant hope. Snape wasn't made from stone, he had to feel gratitude just as anyone else would feel. Harry was bringing with him a beautiful surprise and anyone in their right mind would appreciate Shae's existence like the miracle she was. Then again, when had Snape ever reacted like he should? The man Harry knew was a bundle of melodrama and a bad temper, but there were times when he would do something so unexpectedly kind that it would shock Harry. Memories of those times, nearly always when they had been alone and Harry had felt like his nerves were frayed, made Harry smile as he gazed out his window. His stomach fluttered with something that was no longer anxiety. Harry nearly groaned aloud at the reaction, but after two years and many traverses through those kinder memories, for Shae's sake, Harry had learned many things about Snape and those situations than he had ever realized as a teenager.

He smiled at the distracting thought of what Snape's reaction would be to this new complication of him actually liking the unpleasant sod.

o

The Great Hall looked just the way Harry remembered it. It was as if there had been no war and no deaths. Standing in the centre of the large room should have probably made him feel overwhelmed by emotions, but although there was the distinct tightening in his chest as his eyes fell on the Headmaster's chair, there were other more pleasant feelings too. Nothing could penetrate these walls, he remembered. When the world around him had begun to crumble he had envisioned Hogwarts, proud and strong, and it gave him hope.

Dumbledore's death had not been the only one to taint Hogwart's walls. Many of the Slytherin students of Harry's time had left, only to fall victims to the Killing curse or to be captured and Kissed by accident or through sentencing. Slytherin had not been the only house to fall. There were many Gryffindors who used their bravery to join or rebel against the side of the Order. But, surprisingly, it was the Ravenclaws that Harry remembered wryly. The silent killers. Smart and focussed. They were the masters behind the strategies on both sides. It was their game of chess that the sides played and even Harry, as the lone pawn sent to risk his life, had learned to appreciate the house of Ravenclaw. And, it was the Hufflepuffs that he turned to when he needed shelter.

Still Hogwarts stood proud. Within its walls, the houses were united under its one name and for the students, this was their sanctuary.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter."

When the doors to the Great Hall opened, Shae immediately grabbed Harry's hand and tried to hide behind his legs. Although McGonagall adressed Harry when she entered, her gaze fell to the cherubic little girl who was shyly peeking out at her. She found herself smiling encouragingly at the intense, Snape-like expression on the little face, but when the expression changed to a quick giggle, there was no doubt that she was a Potter.

"It's good to be back Headmistress," Harry responded.

He walked over to his former Head of House and shook her hand enthusiastically. He was glad to see that despite the war and the death of Dumbledore, the years had been kind to her and the title of Headmistress seem well deserved.

"This is Shaelan." He indicated his daughter was was still trying to disappear beyond his legs. "She's a little shy. She has never been anywhere magical outside of our home."

McGonagall gave Harry a searching look. "Her other father might not approve of that."

Harry sighed, half from relief and half from anxiety. He ducked his head under her scrutiny, feeling like an eleven year old once again, who had committed some sort of attrocious act against his own house.

"So Hermione told you."

"Well she had to, Potter." The chide was gentle though firm. "How would it have looked if you had shown up amidst the students and faculty with a child that you fostered off a man who did not give his permission to have an offspring? He is very ill right now. The shock alone would have done what the twenty years of being an agent for the Dark Lord did not do."

"I didn't -" Harry began to mumbled but he was interrupted.

"I know what you did and didn't do, Mr. Potter. I'm quite able to do research once I am aware of what I am looking for. Now Miss Granger does an amazing job at the Ministry, but even she cannot hide information from me when I demand an explanation. Mr. Weasley was quite helpful in clearing up the more unbelievable aspects. But, I assure you Potter that I am not an idiot. The moment you came up with such a ridiculous idea you should have come to me so that I could knock some sense into you. As you didn't do that, I am very disappointed. I think I should have liked putting forth the effort. As it is, that is all water under the bridge now. What's done is done."

That sounded like a begrudging sort of forgiveness. Harry chanced a quick glance to see if it really was, and he was incredibly happy to see the expression of amusement that McGonagall was trying to hide.

"In my defence, Professor, I thought he was dead," Harry pointed out wryly. "I realize in hindsight that it was one of the more inpulsive ideas I've ever had, but I don't regret it for a second. I love my daughter."

McGonagall smiled. "Well I should think so. She seems rather enchanting."

"Well yes she is, but knowing Snape, he won't care about any explanation. He'll probably kill the both of us the second that he sees her," Harry said dejectedly.

"He won't, because he has already been informed about her existence." McGonagall was back to looking stern. "It's not my place to break news like this as a third party, but as I said I was worried about his health should he find out some other way. He was there when I looked up your records at St. Mungo's."

That surprised Harry. "He was? Well how did he react? Was he angry? Do you think that he'll -" But again he was interrupted. This time it was because of a whisper from his daughter.

"Daddy?" She released his hand.

He looked down enquiringly at her, but she wasn't looking at him. Instead her shy smile was aimed at the opened doorway of the Great Hall. Harry felt an acute sense of panic flood his body, but he gathered his Gryffindor courage to look up and into the burning black eyes that was trained more upon his daughter than himself.

"Going for sainthood, Potter?" Snape's voice was as unforgiving as Harry remembered, but when Shae took a step back in surprise, the tone lost its harshness and seemed almost resigned. "What are you doing here?"

Harry met the cold, unreadable eyes and he set his jaw firmly. Taking Shae's small hand in his, he walked over to stand before the looming wizard.

"I thought you might like to get to know your daughter. She's been dying to meet you, so now is your chance to get to know each other." Harry tried to be brave and hold the hard stare, but the obsidian eyes seemed to physically burn him the longer he stood there. "So here she is."

And to the Headmistress' surprise, Harry picked up his daughter and thrust the little girl into Snape's arms, before giving a curt nod in her direction and very nearly running out of the room in his haste to escape.

The expression on Snape's face could only be described as priceless.

**o - o**

**tbc **


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. None of the individuals in the banner or the people who photographed them are in any way affiliated with me.

**Pairing:** Severus/Harry.

**Rating: R**

**Warning: OOCness (sorry I tried, but Sev refused to stay mean)**

**Summary: **Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.

**Author's note: **Last of the pre-written chapters.

**Author:****_Spirit_**

o

_**Culpa Internum**_

The Fault Within

o

CHAPTER THREE

o

"You have reached the Floo of St. Mungo's Hospital. Please state your name and the name of the individual who you wish to contact. If you are unsure, then stay in the Floo and a representative will assist you shortly."

The floating, turning crest of St. Mungo's was violently shoved out of the way with a hiss of disgust as Severus stuck his head in its place.

"Severus Snape," he snapped. "Healer Kehland."

The charmed crest sprung up again, nearly smacking into Severus' face if he had been a second too late on removing his head from the fire.

"We're sorry, but the Healer that you have requested is unavailable right now. However, Healer Michaella Kehland has permitted other Healers to assist you in her absence, Severus Snape. Please stay in the Floo and one of your next available Healers will be here soon. In the event that you are feeling faint, nauseous or believe that you need emergency assistance then step into the Floo and -"

The crest shimmered for a second then disappeared. The calm, tolerant face of Severus' 'next available Healer' smiled at him from the fire, but there was no mistaking the mischievous look in the dark blue eyes.

"Hello Professor. How are you feeling today?" Ron asked as pleasantly as he could, seeing as how Snape looked more annoyed than in desperate need of assistance.

"Weasley." Severus thrust a vial of potion forward so that Ron could read the label. "What in the nine hells is this supposed to mean?"

Ron dutifully read, "Dilute 1 tsp of potion with 2 tbsp of water for each dose of this potion. Do not exceed the maximum four dosage per day unless advised by your Healer. Do not -"

"Dilute!"

The potion was snapped back and this time Ron didn't seem to make any attempt to fight his amusement. The grin on his face made Severus wonder if perhaps seeing all those deaths in the war had not somehow addled Weasley's brain. He, like his two friends, walked around with the tired, saddened expression of those who had been too young to have witnessed such attrocities. They had been in the forefront of the war. Perhaps Weasley suffered more than others imagined and had not been able to readjust in life as Potter certainly had.

"Dilute!" Severus snarled again, teeth clenched together as he sneered angrily. "One of _my_ potions? If I had wanted a bucket of water thrown into the concoction I would have added it myself! I invented a perfectly good Pain Relieving Potion. Why can't you fools as St. Mungo's leave well enough alone? Must you debase everything that your grubby magic touches? There is nothing wrong with the formula for -"

Severus' tirade was cut abruptly short as he sucked in a deep, sharp gasp of air. The headache that had started this rampage was getting worse the more he shouted. A particularly nasty bout made his head almost throb in agony.

Immediately, Weasley became as professional as possible.

"Professor Snape, are you alright?" Even through the distance and the fire, there was no mistaking the gentle prod of magic. "You have a migraine. It will only get worse, Professor, if you insist on worrying over minor annoyances."

"I refuse to take a diluted version of my own potion."

Weasley sighed patiently. "It's for your own good you know. You're right, you did invent one of the best Pain Relieving Potions and in the end we will need its potency to help when there are worse pain to endure. Right now, we can't afford for you to get immune to the potion so early in your treatment. While we could use one of the lesser potions, I'm sure you'd find more fault with those than you ever could with your own potion. So the best thing for everyone is for you to just do what we Healers ask."

Severus pressed the heel of one hand in the vicinity of his right eye. While that merely shifted the pain, it offered a small measure of relief for a few seconds. It was enough for him to curl his lips in disgust. He really should be writing this down as the day that a Weasley was actually making sense.

"If this is the way that -" was the farthest he got before Ron began to speak.

"Professor, don't you think that it would be better if you had a lie down now? I can sense that your headache is escalating. Take the potion and you can contact me again to shout as much as you'd like. The more energy that you exhert will just result in more discomfort. Rest and you'll feel much better."

"Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking Weasley! It is my body! I am well aware of how tired I feel or how much pain I can tolerate. I've endured far worse pain than a mere headache!"

Not that it felt like just any minor headache. Severus tried not to groan. The bright light from the fire and especially the gratingly calm voice that Weasley was using was really not helping. Severus took a deep breath and removed his hand from his face.

"Resting is not a feasible option right now," he pointed out almost softly. "I have a guest and while she has been far more manageable than I anticipated, you can hardly expect me to take care of a two year old with a raging headache, now can you? Taking a diluted version of this potion won't work. I made the potion Weasley. I had to test it on someone, didn't I? So if you're afraid that my tolerance level may get too high, bad news boy, it already is."

"Shae is there?" Ron's eyes narrowed. "Wait. Where exactly is she? Did you lock her in a room or something, or petrify her? You had better not have petrified her Snape, or Merlin help me I'll curse you with something far worse than a migraine."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "She is _my_ daughter, isn't she?"

"You can look on her and doubt that?" The anger in Ron's expression changed to intrigue. "She looks just like you."

"She looks like him. She has his eyes."

"She does not! She has both your eyes. They change color depending on her mood. She has your smile and your...sneer? Whatever you call it, whenever you're both in a particularly nasty mood."

"I haven't seen her do much of anything actually, except sit and play by herself as if she's not sure if I'm real."

Ron smiled at that and the realization that Snape was being somewhat pleasant, all because his daughter was in residence. "She wouldn't know though. Harry's only shown her memories of you. The most pleasant ones are usually you just sitting in your office before you notice him. Try talking to her. Anything will do. She's a good listener, most of the time. She got that from Harry."

"She'd have gotten that from me, Weasley." Severus tried to school his expression into nonchalence. "Is there anything in particular that she would like to hear? When Potter dumped her into my arms he didn't leave any instructions on how to handle her."

"She's a child, not a vase, Professor. You don't have to handle her." Ron grinned. "It's not like Harry had a manual either. Sink or swim. If you do something wrong she'll let you know. General rule, tears mean you messed up, laughter means you're doing good."

"I did manage to break her of that ridiculous notion that she can refer to us with the same noun."

Ron had to laugh at that. "Good for you! Must be a record too actually, Harry has been trying for months now."

"It doesn't suprise me that he failed."

There was silence for a few seconds. Severus tried not to fidget. No matter how subtle Weasley was being, Severus could feel the trickles of healing magic that had been pouring into him steadily from the moment the conversation had switched to Shaelan. He could even sense the calming effect. Usually he would have thorought berated Weasley on trying to manipulate him in this way, but his headache was being comfortably reduced and now he had the excuse of being medicated while he asked questions that had really been weighing on his mind since he found out about her.

Everyone said that her very existence was a phenomena and the Healers had all been harping on how special she was, even in the cataloguing of her birth where information should have been less biased. Severus remembered how not-grateful he had felt when he was informed of what Potter had done. Everyone at St. Mungo's expected him to be ecstatic. He had been livid with anger, wanting to hunt Potter down and tear him to shreds for this demoralization. One made worse by the fact that he had always wanted a child to carry out his legacy and he had indeed felt grateful. They were feelings that he had never wanted to experience in accordance with Potter's name. Yet, he had Snape's child and just like a recurring hero with a complex, the boy had managed to show up just in time when he knew that Snape would have no choice but be thankful. It all seemed very calculated and Severus had spent hours wondering what kind of child this Shaelan Potter-Snape was and if she was anything like her younger father. Blood magic was the most potent charm in the magical world and the child could have been a horror to behold.

But from the second that he'd seen her, he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.

Her wavy black hair had looked as smooth as corn silk and he imagined it to be as soft as feathers against his fingertips. Later he had found out that it was just the way he had imagined. She hadn't been afraid of him at all as she stepped towards him with that open look of concentration and guarded acceptance. And he had frightened her with his irritation. It was amazing how seeing fear in his daughter's eyes - because from the moment that he had looked at her she had been no less - made him feel worse than any insult anyone had every tried throwing at him. Then she was in his arms with her small arms wrapped tightly around his neck, her perfect Potter-like nose pressed to his jaw, the scent of lilacs and lavender wafting from her hair and skin, her miniature-version black wizading robe clinging to her body as he held on to her. For a long moment he had been afraid to even put her down, for fear that she wasn't real and as beautiful as any little girl he had ever seen. And she was his. Even now that realization was unbelievable.

But he had put her down because the headache that had been taunting him all day had become a migraine and the potion that his Healers prescribed had a charm on it that made the potion return to the bottle if he didn't add water to it within a ten second period.

"Professor." Weasley's voice was soothing, no doubt he was sensing with the instincts that he had developed as a Healer, that his patient was feeling better. "Don't let her tire you out. Get some rest. I'll see what I can do about changing your medication. I know you'll get tempted, but try not to get all stubborn and attempt making your own brew. Do something simple to keep her busy like read her a story or talk to her."

"I'll hold you to your word Weasley," Severus warned, but it obviously had no effect since Ron smiled. "I'll be in the living room should you need me. Remember to use the Floo, Mr. Weasley. I know that you're stupid enough to forget that Hogwarts still have anti-apparition wards."

That wiped the grin right off Weasley's face. Severus was satisfied. It still gave him a sadistic pleasure to know that no matter how old or mature his former students became, he still had the power to reduce them to mere twelve years olds mentally.

With a curt "Good day Weasley," Severus snuffed the Floo connection out and stiffly rose from the awkward position that was required for Floo conversations. He stretched gingerly. His headache wasn't all gone, as he'd need the potion for that, but it was certainly more tolerable. He looked at the Pain Relieving Potion in his hand again.

Dilute.

Well if he was going to have to add water to be able to induce the potion then he might as well get on with the distasteful task, he reasoned.

o

She was sitting exactly where he had left her on the large settee.

He hadn't petrified her to ensure that she remained where she was. He had simply told her that if she didn't stay on the chair then when he returned he would put her on the carpet and let it eat her. In hindsight it wasn't a very nice threat, but it did have the desired effect as she kept her legs tucked up to her chest, not risking having it dangling near the accursed floor.

Two steps in her direction reminded him of what Weasley had said. She was sobbing quietly to herself. He had made a mistake.

He sat down beside her, risking a few glances at her, but she kept her eyes locked firmly upon the floor as if she was afraid that he hadn't kept his word and the floor was soon to jump up and gobble her.

"You've been very good," he informed her softly. "It won't hurt you."

She sniffled then turned to gaze up at him sorrowfully. Her eyes were bright green like Severus remembered Lily's eyes to be when she was sad, shimmering with tears in just the same way.

"Will you forgive me if I apologize?" He asked as gently as he had ever dared to make his voice. Guilt was not an emotion that he enjoyed. "I could hardly let you follow me. What do you think would happen if one day you decided to try it and stuck your head into the fire while a Floo was not open. It wouldn't be very pleasant for you or anyone else who would have to look at you."

She sniffled again, tears still streaming down her face, as she rubbed a palm across her eye.

"I am sorry," he said, amazed that the words actually came out sounding sincere.

Gingerly, slowly, she leaned her head against his arm and shuffled closer to him for protection. Just as slowly, he reached out with his other hand to stroke his fingers soothingly through her hair and then across the smoothness of her cheek. The tears seemed to stop but the wetness was still there so he wiped them away in soft caresses.

"Is there anything that I can do to make you feel better?" She didn't answer. Severus considered further. "Would you like me to get you some ice-cream? The house-elves are very efficient. I've been assured on countless occassions that there is no food in the world that they cannot provide. This would be a reasonably good opportunity to test that theory."

He cleared his throat then shouted, "House-elf!". One appeared instantly, bowing with eyes wide, ready to please. "An ice-cream cone for the child. Strawberry. Make sure that there are real strawberries in it, mind you."

The house-elf dissappeared, then faster than should be possible, reappeared holding a cone that looked to be almost as high as his eager face. He handed it carefully to Shae, ensuring that it was firmly secured in both her hands. Then with another bow to each of them, he popped out of the room again.

"For me?" Shae asked, her eyes sparkling with disbelief. Severus nodded at her and she smiled with glee. "Papa wants ice-cream too?"

"I may as well take some of yours," he said, glowering at the tower of ice-cream. "If I make you sick, your other father just might decide not to leave you alone with me again."

They licked their way through the mass, and when she had enough, Severus saved his carpet from being ruined by finishing off what was left. By then she had somehow managed to fall asleep from the saporific effect of crying and licking and melting ice-cream. After casting a thorough Cleaning Spell to get rid of all the stickiness, Severus contemplated letting her stay in the position that she was in with her head resting at his side and his arm draped very loosely around her. But he couldn't resist very long, so in a swift but gentle movement her pulled her fully into his lap, cradling her close to his chest.

"You'll make an astounding Slytherin one day," he growled gently at her as he smoothed her hair. "Don't for a second think that I missed all that subtle manipulation that you just used. Raw talent like that needs to be honed and you've spent enough time with Potter to pick up his more Gryffindor ways, I'm sure. Well I plan on teaching you how to embrace your Slytherin side."

He risked pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before he returned to simply staring down at her, loving the way she felt in his hands and the intoxicating knowledge that she was his. Maybe Potter knew exactly what he was doing when he shoved her into his arms, Severus realized.

Maybe manipulation ran in their family.

o-X-o


End file.
